


I don't Wanna Die So You're Gonna Have To

by Webtrinsic



Series: The Hitman Richie AU [4]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: BAMF Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Hitman AU, Home Invasion, Hurt Richie Tozier, M/M, Mittens and Chapstick :), Murder, Murder Husbands, Protective Eddie Kaspbrak, Protective Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Self-Defense, bullet wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webtrinsic/pseuds/Webtrinsic
Summary: It wasn't surprising that someone broke into their space yet again, what's surprising is that it ends up being Eddie who handles it.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: The Hitman Richie AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1524464
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	I don't Wanna Die So You're Gonna Have To

**Author's Note:**

> three fics in a day since i start college tomorrow and am stressing and wanted to close this series up so this is the end and i hope you enjoyed my hitman richie au!!!!!

It was destined to happen again, they’d both known that and yet it was still wishful thinking that it wouldn’t. That is why there are two bodies on the floor, one seemingly unconscious and the other being Richie with a bullet lodged in his chest.

Eddie as he’s crying and applying pressure to the wound berates his lack of investment in better security, knowing his husband is likely thinking the same about himself if he’s thinking anything at all that doesn’t pertain to the bullet taking residence in his torso.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie is repeating although not consciously as he pressed firmly down on the gaping wound, sick and disgusted that his husband’s blood was sullying his hands, his clothes, and his recently mopped floor. It goes beyond his fear of germs and hypochondria, it stabs at his heart and not his head because the love of his life is in the home they built together, hurting and leaking a substance vital to keeping him alive.

They’d more than established they cannot live without one another and Eddie doesn’t know what he’d do without Richie’s tolerance for his neurotic behavior, or Richie’s ability to make him laugh. 

He’d be less of a person without his husband, that much he knew as he tried to remember his first-aid classes in college. His shaking isn’t helping, and neither is his husbands breathing, he’s fighting for a consistent rhythm with air escaping through his barred teeth.

They are both blind to the waking of the man on the floor behind them, Richie’s fight with consciousness lost making the once asthmatic hold back a scream that may or may not have cut his lip.

The gun had been shot with a suppressor on and if he made too much noise now Eddie wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Winson from trying to knock on the door or come inside. If the police arrived, even if they were there to save his husband, the truth would likely unravel and his husband would be taken.

Eddie cannot and will not decide which option is worse, death or the rest of his husband’s life being spent in a cell surrounded by people who likely knew who he was for both good and bad.

Their attacker is less than silent as he gathers his bearings and Eddie is all too aware there is a fight at hand. He prepares to move by tearing his husband's shirt and using it to tie off the wound before getting to his feet, just nearly managing to miss the swing of the gun aimed towards his head.

The masked assailant's full attention is on Eddie now and he sidesteps the hitman on the ground in chase, apparently wanting to fight with his hands. Eddie doesn’t know if the gun will fire or not as he gets to the kitchen, breath escaping as he’s tackled to the ground. 

It’s the man’s mistake because not only is Eddie a runner, but he’s dealt with the grip of his husband for years, freeing himself took only a few moments before his foot was slamming into the other man’s jaw and he was on his feet.

There’s a bottle of wine on the counter, it fruity and seemingly girly enough that he’d been made fun of liking for years by a great many of people but Richie’s always found it endearing, stocking up on the substance and not giving a damn about the looks given when he purchases it while Eddie normally feels the need to buy a gift card with it so no one believes it's really for him.

It’s a shame to waste but Eddie’s adrenaline is high and his husband is unconscious and his fury is unleashed, the bottle breaks in pieces as he smacks it against the counter before he is plunging it into the other man’s chest.

The gun aimed at his head falls with a clatter as the man is trembling and placing his hands on the bottle impaling his chest and filling with blood. The floor is still red but with wine more than blood and Eddie takes that as a win as his attacker falls against the cabinets and slides to the ground dead.

Eddie doesn’t know if it’s the fact that the kill was in self-defense or that he’s still in shock that doesn’t have him screaming in remorse for killing a person, but he pulls himself together if only for a moment because his husband’s well being is more important.

Chapstick misses his walk that night.

* * *

The weight of a body at his side and partially resting on his shoulder keeps the hitman from shooting to his feet. The blanket of drugs and far distance of pain containing him as well. The mattress under his back is not the floor he’d been on before, and he knows Eddie is okay because he smells his familiar hair gel in his nose, since it is in fact his husband at his side.

There’s a familiar pattern of steps approaching, Chapstick climbing the little stairs at the end of their bed and waddling up beside him. His paws are covered in dry blood and he likely has to use the restroom if he hasn’t used one of the emergency doggy pads already.

If Eddie is here in bed and Chapstick isn’t barking up a storm, Richie wonders where that bastard fuck has gone. Did he leave after their fight sparing a sobbing Eddie because he was under the belief Richie hadn’t passed out but died?

They weren’t in a hospital but his wounds were tended to, of course by Eddie himself, evident enough by the open medical textbooks at the end of the bed, one flaked with dry blood from Chapstick stepping on it, Richie knows they’ll have to clean the sheets and mop the floor once again.

Chapstick nuzzles his snout against his face, not oblivious to his predicament as the dogs actions are tamer than normal. He is not shaking in his usual happiness, and is very clearly staying clear of laying on Richie like he normally likes too.

It is an arduous task of lifting his hand to pet the dog whose tail wags with restraint, his head heavily pressing back into the touch because although the dog is being cautious Chapstick is still helpless to a good petting.

There is a slight odor to the air that he recognizes, wine and blood and it kills him to slip out from under his husband and bed even as his chest aches and Chapstick has begun shifting anxiously on his feet and following close behind with his tail tucked between his legs.

The hitman's eyes burn from having been asleep with his contacts in, but he’s grateful to be able to see as he heads down the hall and comes to the kitchen, blocked off by the dog gate, and inside a corpse is there, glass sticking from his chest, defeated.

And he thinks ‘defeated’ because this to him is not a human, it is a monster or adversary in a game who his husband had seemingly struck down before tending to him. There is a mixture of feelings because he knows Eddie feels enough and he wonders what Eddie felt when he did it, but there is also a level of pride that swells with his wounds.

His Eddie was a fighter, and had done what Richie had done for him. He’d vanquished a monster.

* * *

Chapstick misses his usual walks for a week, Eddie goes to work only to come home, dote, and refresh his knowledge with the textbooks while Richie relaxes and does what he can about corpse cleanup.

He ends up calling a fixer to help deal with the rest, and Eddie isn’t rude to their guest, even gets them a water before moving to take Chapstick on a walk. The little dog had been dying to go out, and Eddie is initially worried that the dog will be met with disappointment.

Mitten’s owners had seemingly moved out entirely just a few days before.

Richie stays back, still taking it slow (Under Eddie's orders) and watching as they use the acid filled paint buckets to dissolve the now cut up corpse and shuffle out the door.

When one of them makes a joke about Eddie joining their work he doesn’t laugh and they leave with an all too tight handshake.

The hypochondriac is just as pissed as they walk by the now vacant house and a malnourished Mittens the cat slips through the fence and circles Chapstick like a starved man salivating over a feast.

They’d abandoned it.

Chapstick's concerned and ecstatic whines are all Eddie needs to hear to resign himself to the fate of cleaning up cat shit for ten years and having to deal with the smell of fishy cat food.

They walk home, Mitten’s and Chapstick in tandem, tails wrapped around one another as they get in the door. Richie’s eyes widen at the sight of the cat and he’s picking out some of Chapstick's wet food in seconds to get some weight back onto the little things bones.

Their household dynamic has changed in more ways than one this week, and when they settle into bed that night it feels right, even more so than before.

**Author's Note:**

> Snap: allisonw1122  
> Tumblr/twitter: webtrinsic1122  
> Insta:Webtrinsic


End file.
